


letting go

by kamsangi



Series: 다가오는 저 폭풍우를 견뎌 줘 [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alpha Bang Chan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon, Complicated feelings regarding late presentation, Cuddling & Snuggling, Descriptions of biting and claiming, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feral Behavior, M/M, Muzzles, No Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Lee Felix, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Rut Symptoms, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:08:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamsangi/pseuds/kamsangi
Summary: It’s bad enough that he has to feel like this—achey and sick and overstimulated from having to adjust to alphahood this late and this unprepared. It’s even worse that he has to bemuzzledthroughout it.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Series: 다가오는 저 폭풍우를 견뎌 줘 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133231
Comments: 43
Kudos: 391





	letting go

**Author's Note:**

> had some vague [omegaverse thoughts](https://twitter.com/SSEOMT/status/1353314658267115521) about chan presenting late and getting muzzled and instead of writing smut, i wrote h/c instead. i am: predictable.

The leather guard digs uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose.

He hates that he can feel every single inch of it. Firm, thick leather straps, not quite chafing against his skin, but almost certain to leave angry red lines along his cheeks once he eventually gets it off. The stainless steel of the cage is cool against his chin, but there’s a slowly-forming bruise under his jaw from the multiple times he’s accidentally smacked his own arm against it, or misjudged the distance between himself and another surface.

Chris wants it off. Chris wants it off _now._

The track reaches the end of its playback, and loops back around to the beginning.

It’s never sounded this awful or this jarring before. Every little vibration rings in his over-sensitive ears, amplified by the sudden burst of senses he’s been contending with since he presented last Thursday. Everything’s too loud, everything’s too bright. Even the low-set light of his laptop sets him on edge. Chris feels like he’s about to snap in half from the tension, from the way his bones keep aching, from the way everyone’s treating him like he’s a live wire about to set an entire building off.

He hits pause, and reaches for the water bottle beside him. A little straw pokes out through the top. Chris pushes the straw through one of the holes in his muzzle, catches it with his mouth, and sucks the water down. It does nothing for the rising heat under his skin, the thirst ever-present under his tongue for something inexplicable. His teeth ache and itch too, with his fangs starting to come in.

It’s bad enough that he has to feel like this—achey and sick and overstimulated from having to adjust to alphahood this late and this unprepared. It’s even worse that he has to be _muzzled_ throughout it.

Sure, he can stick a straw through, and there’s a little slot that’s just big enough for a spoon or a toothbrush to go through, and he can move his mouth and sing and speak, but—it’s humiliating.

He can’t even take it off on his own. There’s an electronic lock on the back buckle that only the managers and the other members know the pass-code to, just in case of emergencies. They’re not allowed to take it off him without supervision.

It’s awful. He hates it.

His phone pings. Chris sets the bottle down to pick it up, flicking his messages open.

 _Are you coming home?_ it says. _Don’t work too late tonight, come back to the dorms._

His first instinct is to refuse. There’s always work to be done, music to be made, and songs to be written.

But—Felix.

Chris’ fingers flex inadvertently, thinking about Felix, waiting for him. Good, kind, sweet Felix, who hadn’t even flinched when Chris woke up last Thursday completely out of his mind and near-feral, who’d just let Chris curl around him and desperately scent him until the others dragged him away. Who isn’t even upset that Chris isn’t a beta anymore, even after all their carefully laid-out plans for the future.

 _Leaders don’t have to be alphas,_ he used to think. _I don’t have to be an alpha. Felix doesn’t need me to be an alpha, and I can lead this group just like this._

Things change.

His phone chimes again. One new message. _I got you ice cream._

Chris swallows the faintly present grief back, and pushes past it. _Okay,_ he types.

He gets a sticker of a cheering Ryan in response, and can’t help but smile as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and starts saving his projects and shutting Cubase down.

As he heads out of the little studio, he glances across the hallway to see a couple of staff looking his way. He waves, and they wave back, but it’s obvious where their gazes are focused.

Chris exhales, and tugs his cap down over his eyes, the shame rising in his throat.

The walk home clears his mind a little. It’s dark out, so no one quite notices the muzzle over his face, especially once he’s tugged his hoodie strings up high. It’s the first time in a while that he hasn’t felt completely out of control over his own body. Just the clean air, the sound of tyres crunching over asphalt as cars speed past, and the moon and stars above him, shining bright.

It helps right up until he walks into the dorm and gets slammed in the face with everyone’s scents overlaying everything.

Even before he’d presented, he’d liked scenting. It made him feel safe to know the others were safe at all times, too. It made them feel like a real pack, the pack that he chose and made and wanted to keep close forever.

Chris shuts his eyes and leans back against the door, taking a deep breath.

The dorm smells like home. Good, safe. It always smells that way. There are three distinct scents in one room, and three more in another. He doesn’t need his alpha senses to tell him whose they are. He’s always been able to tell.

And, in the last room, just one.

Chris pushes off the door, heading straight for it. His head’s starting to throb again with all the familiar smells packed into one small place. Everything’s starting to get dialed up to eleven again, and all he wants is—

Felix sits up when the door opens and closes. “Chan-hyung,” he says, and Chris drops his bag and crawls straight into Felix’s bed, because Felix is there, smelling like sugar and cinnamon and vanilla and everything sweet, and Chris needs him, needs Felix, his Felix. His mate. “Ice cream?”

“Later.” Chris rucks the blanket up to get in with him, wanting to get closer, twining their fingers and rubbing their wrists together. It’s not enough. He wants to kiss Felix like he always does when he gets home. Wants to bury his nose in Felix’s skin and drag his mouth along his neck and breathe in his scent like it’s the only thing he needs. Out of habit, he ducks to scent Felix, and makes an irritated noise when he bumps against Felix’s shoulder with his muzzle, unable to reach him.

Felix laughs breathlessly, carding his fingers through Chris’ hair. “Big, dumb puppy,” he says fondly, scent spiking with amusement. It’s not funny, Chris thinks miserably, it’s _not,_ it’s not funny when Felix is right here and Chris can’t scent him and his skin’s all bare and lovely and ready to be marked. Chris tries to shove his face closer to Felix’s throat, snapping his teeth uselessly at him behind the metal cage. “Shh, okay, it’s fine—stay still, let me—”

Felix pushes him back just far enough for him to dip his face and scent Chris, the line of his nose running up along his neck and jaw and just barely catching the bottom of his muzzle. Chris whines low in his throat when Felix presses a kiss to his cheek, and then to the front of the muzzle. It’s unfair. Felix is _right here,_ and Chris wants to get his mouth on him, wants to sink his fangs right into his skin and taste the blood under his tongue and let everyone know that Felix is all his, only his.

But this stupid thing won’t let him.

“A little while longer,” Felix promises, holding his face. “Once you go into rut and get it out of your system, they’ll let you claim me. We’ll get to spend my heats together again like we used to, okay?”

Chris nods, suddenly exhausted and aching and sore all over. It’s okay, it’s fine. He can wait. Felix told him to wait, so he can wait. He’ll wait as long as he has to.

They curl up together in Felix’s bed, Chris with his cheek pressed to Felix’s hair in an odd position, breathing in as much of his shampoo and his natural scent as possible, clutching him so tight that he’s a little afraid that it’s too much. He doesn’t want Felix to go anywhere. Felix is his. Felix knows that, doesn’t he?

“Mate,” Felix whispers against his chest, scent evening out. Comforting, soothing, safe, home. Love. “Mine.”

He knows.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you'd like to see this go anywhere! 
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/SSEOMT) | [cc](http:/curiouscat.met/SSEOMT)


End file.
